


You Always Meet Twice

by SmartKIN



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Allison Argent & Lydia Martin Friendship, Allison Lives, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Smutty, post 3b
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 13:32:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3611895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmartKIN/pseuds/SmartKIN
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allison is still in the hospital when the gang sets out to rescue Derek from Mexico, much to her apparent annoyance. She doesn’t expect them to return with Braeden, who is scarred, for one, and very much alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Always Meet Twice

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to thank [Emma](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tiny_white_hats) for betareading this fic for me, her suggestions made this so much better! <3

Being stuck in the hospital was like living in a building-sized bubble in which everybody was as irritated as they were irritating. Needless to say, Allison absolutely hated it. She had never even been properly submitted before. The only times she had visited the ER were when she had broken her wrist in third grade after having unsuccessfully tried to climb a very tall tree, and when she’d had a worrying reaction to an aggressive insect bite in preschool.

 

When she had visited other people in the hospital she had vaguely concluded that she wouldn’t want to be confined to a room—a bed—where anyone could just walk in and out whenever they pleased.

 

She had not anticipated the sheer boredom that would follow.

 

One could only listen to music and read trashy magazines for so long before losing it—and to her eternal shame, she had even started using the Game Boy Stiles had smuggled in to entertain her. How could she have known that she would get so attached to the Poochyena she had caught in the small hours of the morning when she should have been sleeping?

 

This particular morning Mrs. McCall had told her that she would be released in a day or two if nothing unforeseeable happened.

 

Allison could have kissed the woman. She couldn’t wait to be out of here.

 

Which was, of course, when something unforeseeable happened.

 

*

 

Allison looked up from her book when Lydia walked in.

 

“Thank God,” she muttered in relief and chucked the book to the foot of her bed. With a grimace she sat up a little further, hating how her body still hurt.

 

Even though her dad would kill her for it, she seriously contemplated asking Scott for the Bite. At least then she wouldn’t have to worry about being stuck in a hospital bed anymore, feeling useless.

 

“Hey, Allison,” Lydia greeted a little awkwardly, fidgeting when she came closer. She threw a quick glance over her shoulder as if to see whether they were truly alone. Allison instantly knew that something was up. Lydia never fidgeted.

 

“What’s wrong?” she asked, and couldn’t help but hope for a little crisis to stimulate her mind, if not her body.

 

“Nothing is _wrong_ ,” Lydia replied, but she looked caught in the act.

 

“Spit it out.”

 

Clasping her hands in her lap, the redhead looked at everything but her.

 

“We may or may not on our way to Mexico to rescue Derek.”

 

_Mexico?_

 

Allison folded back her blanket and tried to slip off the bed with a wince.

 

“ _What are you doing?_ ”

 

Lydia stopped her with gentle but firm hands and pushed her back against the mount of pillows, smoothing out the blanket when Allison was settled.

 

“I’d be released tomorrow anyway.”

 

Allison knew that she was being petulant, now, but she couldn’t help it. She needed to be alright so she could accompany her friends into danger.

 

“You’re in no shape for a rescue mission,” her best friend pointed out, and Allison hated to admit that she was right. Lingering pain shot through her torso—the stab wound all but healed, yet still giving her grief—she wouldn’t be able to make it through a bumpy car ride across the border.

 

Her shoulders fell and she let out a dejected sigh.

 

Lydia tugged her back in and looked her straight in the eye, expression as serious as it got.

 

“You need to take it easy, Allison,” the banshee told her quietly.

 

“I should be part of this mission!”

 

“I know,” the other girl agreed. “We will keep you updated, I promise.”

 

Lydia squeezed her shoulder with a brave smile and hastened out of the hospital room without another word.

 

Allison stared after her in dismay and wondered whether she could get out of the hospital and hotwire a car without being seen.

 

*

 

She may have thought that she hated hospitals _before_ , but coupled with sitting on the sidelines and simply waiting for her friends to save the day—she had never felt so useless.

 

What if they needed her skills but she wasn’t there to help them?

 

What if somebody got hurt—or worse—because she hadn’t been there?

 

And the messages she received didn’t even begin to set her mind at ease. It was mostly Lydia who texted her; little boring tidbits of car small talk, some pictures of the drab Mexican landscape, bitchy comments about Stiles’ driving skills.

 

She almost wished Stiles would text her, too—his particular brand of nerdy humor never failed to brighten her mood these days.

 

Allison wouldn’t know how to survive if anything happened to either of them.

 

Unbelievably tired all of a sudden, Allison closed her eyes and decided to take a nap. If she slept, time would go by a little faster.

 

It was almost past visiting hours when her dad came by.

 

“Melissa just told me that I can take you home soon,” he said as soon as he walked in, a gentle smile on his face.

 

Allison huffed. If it were up to her, she’d have been out of here a week ago.

 

Her dad stepped closer and after regarding her impatience with fond amusement, he sat down in the chair next to her bed.

 

“How are you?”

 

“I’m fine.”

 

Chris raised an eyebrow.

 

“I’m not lying,” she hissed. “I just hate being stuck here.”

 

Before he could answer, however, there was a knock on the doorframe.

 

Father and daughter looked up in unison and blinked in surprise as Sheriff Stilinski walked in.

 

“Allison,” he greeted. “Chris.”

 

“Sheriff,” her dad returned while she discreetly tried to draw the blanket further up her chest.

 

She felt too vulnerable in this position, no matter that the sheriff had seen her break down before, not once, but twice.

 

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Stilinski began, but Allison cut him off.

 

“It’s no trouble, what can we help you with?”

 

For a brief second he looked amused, then his expression became almost blank.

 

“Do you have any idea why my son’s phone is currently in Mexico?”

 

“Mexico?” she asked and plastered the most innocent expression on her face that she could produce. “Maybe it was stolen.”

 

Her dad groaned and dragged a hand over his tired face.

 

The sheriff sighed.

 

“That’s what I thought. Just tell me, is he in danger?”

 

Allison stared at him and wondered how much she should reveal.

 

“The pack’s with him.”

 

“I guess that’s something,” he muttered and then nodded at them. “Thanks.”

 

As soon as the sheriff was out of the door, she reached for her phone to text Stiles.

 

_If you don’t want your dad to know where you are, you should turn off your GPS._

 

And she was back to waiting.

 

*

 

By the time her friends rolled back into town she was ready to stab somebody.

 

Her dad had recognized the homicidal glint in her eyes and signed her out as soon as possible, thanks to Mrs. McCall who had probably smoothed over some corners to make it happen.

 

It wasn’t like she suddenly regained her freedom, exchanging one bed for another. But since that bed was her own, in her room, away from hospital staff, and came with her stuff as well as normal-tasting food—she was as happy as could be.

 

She would never admit it out loud, but the trip home had exhausted her and she dreaded getting back in shape, if only because it would show her how weak she had become while recovering from a stab wound.

 

It’s almost ten in the morning on Sunday when Lydia dropped by to tell her what had happened—the whole freaky story of Mexican hunters, Aztec temples and a de-aged Derek. She had troubles wrapping her mind around it; even for Beacon Hills standards that was one hell of a stunner.

 

“And then Braeden swoops in like nothing happened,” Lydia commented, her face alight with skepticism as she ate another piece of Allison’s mid-morning snack.

 

“Wait, _Braeden_? Didn’t Deucalion kill her?”

 

Her head was already reeling from the information overload.

 

“Tell me about it.”

 

*

 

Late that day, when she was alone in her room and the world was starting to quieten down, she was lying on her back and staring at the ceiling.

 

Kate was alive.

 

She had no idea how to feel about that one. When Lydia had told her, her mind had flashed back to the terrifying visions of Kate that had haunted her after the fiasco with the Nemeton.

 

Allison thought she’d be scared, but she was just numb instead.

 

What bugged her more was that she had so many questions and didn’t know who to ask.

 

And somehow she couldn’t stop wondering about Braeden.

 

*

 

Monday morning arrived without much fanfare. Allison wouldn’t be going back to school for a while yet—getting stabbed through the chest really did a number on you, apparently. Most of the time she could accept the slow healing process, if only because she knew that it had been a miracle that she was still alive.

 

So she slept a lot, watched TV whenever she was awake (secretly training her Pokémon when nobody was there to see it), and generally let her dad wait on her hand and foot.

 

Right now she was dozing, with reruns of _Pretty Little Liars_ almost on mute in the background, when unexpected noise startled her into wakefulness.

 

“..don’t know where Kate is,” she heard her dad growl somewhere outside her room.

 

The mention of Kate roused her like nothing else would have. She sat up with a wince and dragged her legs over the edge of her bed. A shiver ran through her as her bare feet touched the ground and she sat there for a moment to gather her strength.

 

“See, I’m not so sure about that,” countered the voice of a woman. Braeden, her mind supplied. The woman that had survived the Alpha Pack not once, but twice.

 

Allison slipped off the bed and sucked in a breath as muted pain shot through her chest.

 

Gritting her teeth she stumbled from bed to door, grabbing the jamb like a life-line as soon as it was within reach. This getting-out-of-bed-business was harder than anticipated.

 

“You might not know where she is,” Braeden continued and Allison strained her ears to catch every word. She didn’t want to miss out on anything the mercenary said. “But you know how she operates, her favorite hiding spots, where she might go next.”

 

Allison quietly opened her door and slipped into the hallway, making her way on unsteady feet to the living room.

 

“Kate is family,” her dad insisted but before he could finish his statement, Allison barged into the room, gaze wild, clinging to the door frame to keep herself upright.

 

“She’s our problem,” Allison hissed.

 

The mercenary looked—good. Clad in black leather and a form-fitting top, Allison couldn't help but appreciate her curves. The contrast to her own boy-shorts and rumpled t-shirt wasn’t lost on her, and she tried her best not to blush under Braeden’s intense gaze.

 

“Is that so?”

 

“Yes.”

 

The two of them stared at each other—one amused, one defiant—until her dad cleared his throat.

 

“We will deal with Kate,” he interrupted, but there was a hidden pain in his voice that Allison didn’t like, that she knew all too well.

 

But this was her life now.

 

“Knock yourselves out,” Braeden commented. “I won’t stop looking for her.”

 

With that the mercenary stalked past them toward the front door. When she was almost out of the apartment she shot a quick smirk over her shoulder at Allison.

 

“Rest up, princess, you’re gonna need it.”

 

Then she was gone, and all Allison and Chris could do was share a look.

 

*

 

It was almost a week until she saw Braeden again, not that she ever stopped thinking about her. Allison kept wondering what Braeden’s life had to be like—getting paid for killing people, or rescuing them, or whatever it was her clients wanted her to do at the time.

 

Braeden was her own master, something Allison realized she longed for, too; nobody to tell her what to do, no moral code to cage her.

 

The dreams she had at night were even more revealing to her—dreams about the mercenary, certainly, only less ...clothed. She blushed every time she thought about them. It wasn’t that she had never found girls attractive before, because she had, _she really had_ , it was just that the intensity of her feelings took her by surprise. They weren’t romantic in nature either, not like the feelings she’d had for Scott, but sexual. If she was honest with herself, she wanted to get the other women naked and see whether she was as cocky and intense in bed, too.

 

It was on Saturday that Braeden came by unannounced again—probably no coincidence since her dad was away for business. He had put it off as far as possible but they had to earn money somehow, so Allison had told him to go. It was only for a day, and if she needed anything she had her friends who would gladly help her out.

 

So he had gone, albeit reluctantly, leaving her to her own devices.

 

There was a knock on the door and Allison slipped into her dressing gown and grabbed her knife, just to be on the safe side (you never knew in Beacon Hills), before walking down the hall and facing whoever it was on the other side. Pain lingered even now, and probably would for some time still, but she bore it with as much dignity as she could muster.

 

Her grip around the knife tightened as she pulled open the door.

 

The sight of Braeden—raised eyebrow and smirk firmly in place—made her mouth go dry.

 

“Good morning, princess.”

 

“What do you want?” Allison’s voice was a little too rough for her own taste.

 

“You look better,” the woman commented and pushed past her.

 

Rolling her eyes, Allison shut the door and followed her.

 

“My dad isn’t here, but you probably knew that already.”

 

“I did.”

 

Braeden dropped into the armchair her dad usually sat in with her usual aplomb. Allison sat down across from her on the couch, putting her knife on the table between them.

 

“Smart,” the mercenary commented.

 

Allison stuck out her chin and raised her eyebrow in silent question.

 

“You’re Kate’s niece,” Braeden offered easily and picked up the latest issue of _Guns and Weapons_ her dad had lying around. “She’ll drop by sooner or later.”

 

“So you’re just gonna stalk me until that happens?”

 

“Pretty much.”

 

Braeden put her feet up on the coffee table and settled back, calmly leafing through the magazine. Allison bristled at her gall.

 

They sat in silence for a while and Allison tried to figure out a way to get Braeden’s attention.

 

The woman was truly gorgeous, and the scars running from her face down to her collarbone did nothing to change that—it only made her more appealing to Allison for some unfathomable reason.

 

“So you’re a hunter now,” she asked, her statement heavy with sarcasm.

 

Braeden didn’t look up from the article she was skimming. “If I get paid for it.”

 

With a huff Allison put her feet on the coffee table too, her robe slipping and revealing her bare legs. For a moment she panicked—feeling vulnerable all of a sudden—but when Braeden’s gaze unabashedly swept over her smooth skin and finally, inevitably, regarded her with hungry amusement, Allison’s confidence returned full force.

 

“Is that what you want?” Braeden asked and put the magazine away.

 

Now it was Allison’s turn to smirk.

 

“We do have to pass the time, don’t we?”

 

Braeden sat up, her feet dropping to the floor. Leaning forward she let her calloused hand brush along the inside of Allison’s ankle and up her calf.

 

Allison shivered and let out a little gasp as Braeden’s hand wandered higher, teasing her by gently grazing the side of her knee, and slowly, ever so slowly, her inner thigh.

 

Watching her every reaction with a satisfied smile, Braeden moved closer, and eventually ended up right next to her on the couch. The angle of the woman’s arm changed and she cupped the swell of Allison’s thigh with her palm.

 

Her legs fell apart without her cooperation, giving Braeden the room she needed.

 

There was something terribly arousing about being so scantily dressed next to Braeden. The mercenary was put together like always, from leather boots to leather jacket, the hilt of a knife visible even now, a gun strapped to her belt, while Allison was only wearing her thin night clothes under her robe.

 

She felt her cheeks starting to heat up under the woman’s intense stare and squirmed just a little.

 

“You sure you’re up for this?” Braeden murmured, squeezing her thigh.

 

She bit her bottom lip to stifle a moan and nodded quickly. Yeah, she wanted this, _needed_ this, needed Braeden’s coarse hands touching her, her mouth on her skin. She wanted to bury her hands in the older woman’s hair, dragging her closer until there was no space left between them.

 

Instead she sat perfectly still, fingers clutching the edge of the couch, wishing that Braeden would just _keep going._

 

“ _Good,_ ” Braeden purred and slipped her hand underneath Allison’s robe.

 

Out of sight, nimble fingers tugged Allison’s panties out of the way and pushed between her folds, not entering her just yet. A moan fell from her lips as Braeden teased her, dragging her index and middle finger through the wetness that already gathered.

 

She reached between her splayed legs and clawed at Braeden’s wrist, trying to get her to push into her, _dammit_ , but Braeden only grazed her clit in retaliation.

 

Allison buckled underneath her ministrations with a loud groan and couldn’t stop herself from wincing as sharp pain travelled through her torso—her body reminding her of it’s barely healed state.

 

Her curbed pleasure momentarily forgotten, she stretched carefully, but the feeling of having been stabbed all over again lingered.

 

Braeden’s hand slipped out from underneath her panties, causing frustration to settle low in her belly. The woman was finally touching her after a week spent agonizing over her own desires and now this. Damn those Oni and what they had done to her.

 

“Maybe we should wait until you’re back in the saddle,” the mercenary proposed dryly, but softened her words by gently caressing her exposed skin.

 

Allison huffed in annoyance, but then it hit her: Braeden had just offered to finish this up some other time.

 

“Alright,” she agreed a little easier now. “Just make sure my dad isn’t home when you sneak in again.”

 

“Of course! He’d only be alarmed by your screaming.”

 

“ _Oh my god_ , shut up.”

 

“Not a chance, princess.”

 


End file.
